Pandora's Box
by whynoy
Summary: Complete What would Chloe do if she had all the answers she's been looking for? Chlark.
1. Writer's Block

**Disclaimer: **All characters property of DC Comics and The WB. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary: **What if the events in Vortex had happened in a slightly different way? A Chloe-finds-out story.

**A/N: **I've altered the timeline a little, making all of Tempest and most of Vortex happen over a two-day span. Nixon's car did _not_ end up on a tree, pretend it was somewhere around the entrance to the crypt. And let's also pretend that he had gathered much more compromising information on Clark than the tape he gave Jonathan.

Huge thanks to Sus, you're the best and you know it. This one's for you. 

**- 1. Writer's block -**

Maybe the reason why I can't write is because I don't have anything interesting to say. Or maybe it's precisely because I do. Oh boy, do I have something interesting to share with the world... the headline of the century. The kind of exclusive any reporter at the Daily Planet would sell their firstborn for. The only problem is that I would rather die than write about it.

Maybe this sudden inability to write the Torch's editorial on the tornado is some weird Freudian trick my brain is playing on me, and my writing skills will be held hostage by my subconscious until I write what really deserves being written. If that is the case, Freudian self-destructive mechanisms suck, let me tell you.

I'm the editor of this goddamned paper, for Christ's sake! I can't have writer's block. I can't _afford_ having writer's block. What's more, I've always believed there is no such thing at all. Writer's block is just a feeble excuse to hide one's lack of creativity, because the only thing that can really block a writer is the writer himself. Which brings us back full circle.

Maybe I've forgotten all the basic rules of journalism too, because I've been rambling for a while now and you still have no idea of what I'm talking about, right? Right. Okay, let's rewind to the part where I said I had something worthy of being narrated.

I guess you could call it a secret. But it's more than just that. This so-called secret is about Clark. No, wait. It's not what you're thinking. It has nothing to do with my -I'll say the word and then die- _crush_ on him. Although I must clarify that my feelings for him left the crush territory a long time ago and entered the land of unrequited love of my life to presumably never return again… but that's another story.

So anyway, this secret of mine involves Clark Kent. I've always known there was something special about him. Something indefinable that you just _know_ is there, even though you can't put your finger on it.

But not even in my wildest dreams -and I don't mean those involving a certain shirtless farm boy and the couch in his barn- could I have imagined the truth about Clark.

It's funny how your whole life can be turned upside down in just one day. 

I've experienced it twice. The first time was the day my mother left. The second time was just yesterday, but it feels like a million years ago.

A lot of things happened yesterday. A tornado hit Smallville. My perfect date turned into my worst nightmare. And I discovered Clark Kent is an alien.

TBC...


	2. Pandora's Box

**A/N: **I've altered the timeline a little, making all of Tempest and most of Vortex happen over a two-day span. Nixon's car did _not_ end up on a tree, pretend it was somewhere around the entrance to the crypt. And let's also pretend that he had gathered much more compromising information on Clark than the tape he gave Jonathan.

***

The little bell over the door tinkled cheerfully, making Dave look up from the open newspaper on the counter.

"Oh, look! Another reporter" he greeted me with a smile.

Dave, the drugstore owner, always calls me 'his little reporter wannabe'. At first I found it patronizing, but in time I just let it slide because after all he thinks it's flattering and in a way he sometimes reminds me of my grandfather.

"_Another_?" I asked as I placed the bottle of Aspirin on the counter.

"Yeah. Some guy from Metropolis stopped by earlier, apparently he works for the Inquisitor. He was asking a lot of questions about the meteor shower… very much like one young lady we both know", he added with a playful smirk.

The Inquisitor was interested in Smallville's meteors? Since when?

I looked inside my purse, trying not to sound too anxious. "Did he tell you his name?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Let me think… Kennedy? No, wait. _Nixon_. Yes, that's it. Wrong president."

"Thanks, Dave."

"Always glad to be a useful journalistic source." He winked. "Here's you change. And have fun at your dance tonight!"

I just smiled and waved from the door.

And that was it. You would think I should have known. Or perhaps _sensed_ it… right? But I didn't. How could I? Life is not cold war Berlin. There are no huge warning signs that read "Entering the Threshold of Disaster" to let you know you when you are about to leave the nice safe American zone. You just realize when it's too late.

The details of what followed aren't really all that interesting.

The day after I became aware of the existence of one Roger Nixon, he was dead. Shot by Lex, no less. My instinct tells me there's one hell of a story behind that, but at this point I lack the strength for any digging whatsoever. Roger Nixon has already revealed enough secrets to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.

Anyhow, I figured that maybe taking a look at the crime scene would help me keep my mind off Clark and the whole spring formal debacle. Ha. The Big Man up there has a wickedly twisted sense of humor, to say the very least.

By the time I got to the woods there was no sign of the cops, except for the proverbial bright yellow tape hanging all around the trees like a weird Christmas decoration someone had forgotten to remove.

And that's when I saw the car.

The windshield was smashed and the front wheels were almost completely sunken in mud. Not very promising I guess, but when I circled the car and saw the familiar skyline on the license plate I couldn't help but smile.

How on earth could they not think of checking the car?

A reporter from the Inquisitor dies in more than shady circumstances, there's a car with a Metropolis license plate a mere 500 feet away from the corpse and no one makes the connection. That's Smallville's sheriff office right there for you. They take incompetence to a whole new level. Only this time, most likely for the first time ever, their incompetence saved a life. Clark's, in case you were wondering.

But I digress.

Anyway, the trunk wasn't even locked. And there it was. Between an old blanket and the spare tire laid a big white box with "CK" written in black letters over the top. My hands were trembling so hard I don't even know how I managed to open it. After a quick look through its contents, instinct took over and I immediately grabbed the box and rushed to my car as fast as my fear and the heavy burden allowed me.

***

I had been sitting there for almost an hour, terrified by a perfectly innocent box lying on my coffee table. Mocking me. Tempting me. Scaring me to death. Okay, maybe perfectly innocent wasn't the right way to describe it in the first place.

The reason I was terrified was because I knew the contents of that box would change my image of Clark drastically and forever. With no turning back.

Never in my whole life have I been afraid of knowledge. Theoretically I'm one of those people who believe there's no such thing as too much information and claim they would rather know if they only had one moth left to live, or if there was a world conspiracy involving nuclear weapons or anything horrible was just around the corner, but now… now I'm starting to reconsider my beliefs.

Everyone likes to say how information is power, probably because they heard it somewhere and think it makes them sound profound or something. What they fail to mention is the fact that power comes with responsibilities. And I'm not so sure I can bear those.

It wasn't as if I had never suspected anything. I figured the speed and strength thing a long time ago, but after all this is Smallville, so I chalked it up to good genes -ironically, I was right in that part- enhanced with a little help from our old green friends the meteor rocks.

The difference was that I never had any irrefutable physical evidence to prove it. And there is a huge difference between having great faith in one of my wacky Wall of Weird theories and actually _knowing_ it's true.

But at that moment, if I opened that box, if I read those files and watched those tapes, I wouldn't be able to hide in the shelter of denial anymore. There would be no more looking the other way, no more closing the eyes to the obvious.

And as awful as it sounds, I wasn't sure I was ready to leave that comfortable realm of ignorance I had chosen to live in.

The phone's sudden ringing made my heart skip a beat.

"H… hello?"

"Hi, pumpkin! It's me."

"Oh. Hi, Dad."

"Listen, it seems things are a little more complicated than we initially thought so there will be another meeting early in the morning. I'm sorry but I think it's best if I just spend the night in the city."

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? If you need anything, call me, okay? I'll be staying at the…"

"… Metropolis Hilton." I finished for him with a smile. "I know." I can't tell how many times we've had had this very same conversation. It's incredibly touching to know that he still worries so much about leaving me alone, even if it's just for one night. "Bye, Daddy."

"Night, sweetheart." 

Usually, I don't mind being home alone. A good movie and a double chocolate ice cream feast always sound like good company for a night in. They also keep me too busy to pay attention to any kind of suspicious noises that remind me of how alone and vulnerable I feel when the house is empty.

Not that night, though. That night it was just the box and me.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply to calm myself. After a moment, I somehow found the courage and opened Pandora's box.

TBC…


	3. Honesty

**- 3. Honesty -**

Last night at two I gave up. I threw Nixon's now empty box against a wall in anger, went to bed and tried to get some sleep. Unsuccessfully, of course. Laying in the dark listening to the ticking of my alarm clock was driving me insane, so I decided to get my laptop and at least get something done for the Torch's special edition on the Tornado. Bad idea.

After almost an hour of staring at the blinking cursor, I gave up trying to write the damn editorial and went back to bed, but as soon as I crept underneath the covers I knew I wasn't going to sleep a wink. And I didn't. So when the morning came at last, I couldn't wait to get dressed and drive to town for coffee. 

However, when I arrived at the Talon in hopes of having Lana caffeinate me, I found she has turned it into the 'Tornado Relief Center'. Great. Did she really have to resort to this to drag people inside her coffee shop? Okay, I'm being unnecessarily mean. Sorry. That's what caffeine deprivation will do to you.

So here I am, standing in the middle of the Talon like an idiot.

Lana materializes out of nowhere. I manage a lame smile.

"Oh hi, Chloe! It's great you could come."

It is? Oh, wait. She thinks I came to volunteer. Oh but you see, Lana, I didn't come to help. I just came to get some coffee and totally forgot about any natural disasters because, you know, I've been a little preoccupied lately with finding out Clark's an alien and all.

For the first time since I arrived, I look around taking in the hectic activity around me. I'm an awful person. A tornado hit, people are in real trouble and I'm too obsessed with my own personal soap opera to notice. I'm a selfish bitch.

I breathe deeply and ask with my biggest fakest smile "What do you want me to do?"

"Everything is pretty much under control, you wouldn't believe how many people volunteered." She answers, looking around pleased.

She's happy. She's glowing. She's also talking to me right now, but I'm too busy noticing how great her hair looks. She survived a tornado twenty-four hours ago and her hair still looks better than mine ever will. And yet, I honestly can't hate her. Things would be so much easier if she was at least minimally… _hateable_. But she just isn't and you don't hate nice decent people in my book.

"… coffee?" That gets my attention.

"Hmmm?"

"I said maybe you could help Clark with the coffee?"

I freeze. Why didn't I think of that? Of course Clark would be the first one to volunteer for Lana. I mean, for the tornado.

What do I do now? I could a) run to the door, get in the car and show up at the Planet two weeks early _or_ b) suck it up like a man. Or, you know, woman. Whatever.

Anyway, it seems I don't even have to make a choice because Lana is already steering me towards the coffee machine… and Clark. Great. Why did I get out of bed again?

Clark smiles when he sees us coming, but I'm not sure whether the smile was meant for Lana or me. 

"Hey Chloe! You heard about the free coffee, huh?"

"Very funny, Clark." I retort taking the tray from his hands and turning around.

This volunteering thing isn't that bad after all, I guess seeing how almost everyone in town has been affected by the tornado is helping me put my own life in perspective.

Once I'm done serving coffee, I pour myself a cup and sneak to a dark corner under the stairs to drink it in peace. It's also a great spot to watch Clark unnoticed. He looks so happy and fulfilled being useful, helping others… Suddenly, I realize that long before finding out the truth, I was already sure he was meant to do great things in life, way beyond the Kent farm or Smallville, and that one day I would be proud to say I was his friend in the beginning.

Although I must admit that after all that has happened over the last twenty-four hours, I have begun to question the true quality of our friendship. If we were as good friends as we held ourselves for... then what, Chloe? Would you have expected him to tell you? 

'How was your English test? Would you like to stop by at the Talon and grab some coffee while I get my daily fix of Lana-drooling? Oh, by the way, did I tell you I'm an alien from another galaxy that landed with my space ship the day of the meteor shower? Oh, I didn't? Must have slipped my mind.'

Yeah, right.

The _really _ironic part, though, is that I can't be mad. I honestly don't know how to be mad at Clark. Much less _stay_ mad at him. The longest I've managed to do that was for ten interminable minutes.

I guess when you love somebody the way I love him, instant forgiveness no matter how badly he screwed up kind of comes with the territory.

And now that I think about it, there's yet another irony. A couple of months ago, I would've walked on burning coals before admitting my feelings for Clark. But now, I can't seem to stop saying that I love him, or how much I love him, or how madly in love I am with him every two seconds. Weird, huh? Must be years of denial and repressed feelings finally coming to the surface all at once and with a vengeance.

My cup is empty. The choice between the cappuccino machine and my perfect hiding spot is a tough one, but in the end fresh brewed coffee wins, so I reluctantly get up and start making my way towards the counter.

Clark is sitting on a stool pretending to struggle with some forms but I know he's thinking about Lana and her newly acquired availability. Or maybe he's wondering about his home planet. It's hard to understand how someone as complex as Clark, with all his deep dark secrets, his powers and his mysteries can be interested in someone as simple as Lana.

Only Lana is anything but simple. There's much more to our former head cheerleader than meets the eye, even if no one seems to notice. And that includes Clark.

Then, what is it he finds so intriguing if he only sees the dull uninteresting one-dimensional side of her? Okay, so he's a sixteen-year-old red-blooded American boy and… Wait. There are so many things wrong in that sentence I don't even know where to begin. For argument's sake, let's pretend he _was_ all of those things. At least he appears to be, right? Anyway, let's just say that like any other guy in this high school he thinks Lana is "totally hot" and that's it. That's all it takes. No need for deeper virtues.

Still, you would expect Clark to search for other things in a girl, wouldn't you? Granted other guys don't but Clark's so… oh, God, I don't know, perhaps I'm just rationalizing. Maybe I'd like him to search for inner beauty because that's the only way I could remotely start to compete with Lana.

Or maybe he _does _believe Lana is simple and one-dimensional and that's why he likes her. Maybe that's precisely what he's looking for. Someone who could balance his complicated existence by being the exact opposite. Someone without secrets or dark sides.

As I said, he doesn't know Lana at all.

So Clark doesn't know the real Lana - or Chloe, for that matter. And Lana and Chloe don't know the real Clark. All complete strangers to each other without even realizing it. What a lovely little posse we are. All of us pretending, all of us hiding behind our safe façades. Yeah, what a lovely little posse... it makes me sick to my stomach whenever I think how we all do nothing but lying and pretending.

Like right now. God, how I wish there was a dictionary at hand so I could throw it at his big dumb alien head and yell: '_Honesty, Clark. Look it up!_'

"Did you say something, Chloe?"

Oops...

"What? Uh… no, I was just… uh… thinking aloud." Gee, I didn't even have to lie to cover up.

"Okay" he says and smiles a little, then goes back to his forms.

And all my anger is gone. Why doesn't that surprise me?

TBC…


	4. The Point of No Return

A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed! This chapter is a little angsty, so be warned;) 

- **4. The Point of No Return -**

I take a deep breath before finally pushing the heavy door of the barn and walking in with as much determination as I can muster at the moment.

This is going to be one of the hardest things I'll ever have to do in my life and I know it. But I also know that it's the right thing to do and the sooner I confront Clark about his… about what I found out, the higher is the probability that he'll forgive me, right? God, I certainly hope so.

Of course, there's also a selfish reason, namely preserving my sanity. I doubt I would survive another day without telling him.

"Hey, Clark." I greet him as I walk up the stairs to the loft. Suddenly, I realize this might be the last time he lets me in here. I quickly push the thought aside.

"Chloe! Hi!"

"How's your Dad?"

"Oh, he's spent the day out in the field, repairing some of the damage. Mom insisted he stayed in bed at least for another day, but you know him…"

"Yeah…" I nod absently.

Clark looks at me with expectant eyes, probably waiting for me to explain what I'm doing in his barn way past dinnertime. 

This is it. The Point of No Return.

Acting on instinct, it had seemed like the right thing to do. Now I'm not so sure anymore.

I feel the sudden impulse to escape but somehow manage to restrain myself. There are a lot of things you could call Chloe Sullivan, but chicken has never been one of them. Right? Oh, come on. Get your act together and tell him already.

"I… I have something for you. But before I give it to you, you have to promise you won't be mad, ok?"

That's such a stupid thing to say. Whenever people use that line it's because they're about to say something that will inevitably make the other person mad, warning or no warning.

"Remember your adoption file?" Clark's jaw instinctively clenches at this. Great. Way to go, Sullivan.

"Well, see… I didn't delete it. Until this morning, that is." There goes nothing.

No reaction. I wait. Still no reaction. Now what? Stick to the plan, Chloe, just stick to the plan. I rummage through my oversized bag for a moment, finally producing a manila folder.

"Here." I hand it to him. "This is the only copy."

What am I supposed to do next? I feel like I'm about to faint. Maybe I should. Sitting down sounds like the best alternative. I sit on the very edge of the couch, as if I was afraid of making myself too comfortable for what's about to happen.

Clark just stands in front of me with the open folder in his hands and I stare at the floor, not daring to say a word. The silence reminds me of that really creepy moment of peace before the storm unleashes and for the first time I realize how scared I am. Scared of Clark's wrath. Now _that_'s a first.

"Why?" His choked question breaks the silence.

This is the part I've rehearsed a thousand times in a thousand different versions. None of them sounds right anymore. Maybe I should discard them all and simply be honest.

"I don't know, Clark. You could blame the reporter in me. Or maybe you could say I desperately wanted a part of you not even Lana could have. That I wanted a hint of your secret, something that would help me understand you better… help me solve the mystery of Clark Kent. And that if I could do that, I would know how to…" I pause before adding 'to make you love me back'.

"I guess it doesn't matter now, anyway" I finish with a shrug.

"And now… you've deleted it?" I know him well enough to recognize the anxiety rising behind his apparently calm voice.

I simply nod in response.

"Why… why _now_?" This makes me look up at him. It's not the question I was expecting.

"Because I wanted to protect you." I answer, matter-of-factly. "Things have changed a lot over the past two days, Clark."

I stand up abruptly and start pacing around the loft, all the while feeling Clark's questioning stare on my back. Finally, I turn to look at him.

"Does the name Roger Nixon say anything to you?"

The faintest shade of panic crosses Clark's face before he answers. "No."

"Liar."

My voice has sounded much more loaded with bitterness than I intended it to. Clark looks shocked. He's not the only one.

"You know, Clark, one would expect a guy who has spent his entire lifetime lying to be a little better at it. Even if you hadn't heard of him before Lex… before yesterday, you would know his name by now, wouldn't you?"

With a quick move, I turn my bag upside down and scatter its contents over his desk until the surface is covered with pictures.

Clark thrusting fence posts into the ground barehanded. Clark stepping without a scratch out of a truck in flames. Clark morphing into a blurry shade too fast for the camera to catch. Clark's ship from all possible angles.

Lord, Clark's _ship_…

I don't even look at the pictures. I have already looked at them until they were so branded into my mind those images are all I see whenever I close my eyes.

Right now I can read them in Clark's face.

Clark looks up at me with an expression I've never seen before in anyone, the strangest mixture of shock, fear and anger and again I find myself afraid of him.

"How…?" he finally manages to whisper.

"Oh but wait, Clark. You've seen nothing yet!"

I don't know why but suddenly I'm overwhelmed with anger. "There's also the notes, the recordings… oh, and just wait until you watch the tapes. One hundred percent Oscar material, Clark."

Bitterness is so thick I can taste it, a metallic tingle on the back of my tongue.

"Everything's in my car. I brought it over so you could personally make it disappear. I knew you wouldn't believe me if I told you I already had."

"Chloe…"

"Oh, and there are no copies, if that's what you're worried about."

I'm dangerously close to hyperventilation right now.

"Am I not trust-worthy? Have I ever been a bad friend? Have I? Was I not supportive enough through all those endless ramblings about how wonderful Lana is, how sweet and pretty and perfect, how I could never even _begin_ to compete with her because only she is up to your perfection standards?"

I know I'm going to regret all this. Actually, I think I'm regretting it already. But I simply can't cut it off, it's as if words had taken control over me and I were physically unable to stop them.

"Obviously, that wasn't enough. No one is enough for you, right? Only Lana. Maybe not even Lana if you got to know her better. I bet you'd despise her and drop her at the spot if she ever dared to reveal the slightest flaw. You know what? After years of envying her, I think all she inspires me now is pity. Yeah, _pity_. You have no idea how to really love, Clark. Because love is based upon trust and honesty and you know you'd never let Lana into your secret and that would rotten your relationship as it has rotten ours." 

I let out a sour snort. "As if we even had one."

Clarks takes a tentative step towards me but I step back.

"Don't look at me like that. Don't you _dare_ looking at me like that! You feel bad? So what? Am I expected to feel sorry for you?"

I can't breathe. Air seems to evade my lungs and I feel about to suffocate. I need to get out of here immediately. Away from this loft and, most importantly, away from Clark.

He doesn't make the slightest attempt to stop me. He must be glad I'm leaving at last.

By the time the farm has disappeared from my rearview mirror, I'm crying so hard that I can barely make out the road through my tears. I pull up before losing all control of the car and just stay there, frozen, clutching at the wheel like there's no tomorrow simply because it's the only thing around me that doesn't seem to be spinning. 

It's late and it's dark and I should leave, but instead of going home like any sensible girl would, I'm sitting in a car in the middle of nowhere, crying my eyes out.

Suddenly I wish I were one of those nice sensible girls. I bet a sensible small town girl wouldn't have done everything in her power to make the love of her life hate her with every fiber of his alien being.

TBC…


	5. Sunrise

There's something strangely soothing about watching the sun slowly rise above the horizon.

It's one of those quaint small town things you would never dream of doing in Metropolis, mainly because, unless you have the penthouse in the Luthor Tower at your disposal, there's no place in the city from where you can spot the horizon, let alone watch the sunrise, without at least ten skyscrapers standing in the way.

Here however, all you have to do is sit back on your porch's swing with a big mug of fresh coffee and enjoy the show.

As I said, it's soothing. And Lord knows I need some serious soothing right now.

Clark hates me. _Really _hates me. Not that I can blame him. I would probably hate myself too if I were in his shoes. Correction. I hate myself already.

I can't believe I was too busy being a reporter to be a _friend_. Worse, I deliberately lied to Clark about his adoption and still, I felt I had the right to be angry with him! When did I become such a stupid…

"You're up early."

Oh. My. God. Guilt must be making me hallucinate now, because I could swear on my life that Clark is standing in my porch and just talked to me.

Before I can process the fact that this is not a figment of my imagination and Clark is indeed here, he's sitting right next to me on the swing.

The infinitesimal part of my brain that's not paralyzed by this realization asks itself what the hell he's doing here. That part is quickly told to shut up and enjoy the fact that, against all my expectations and probably his better judgment, Clark hasn't decided to never speak to me again.

We just stay silent for a while, both trying to find the right words. He beats me to it.

"You know… all my life I have imagined how it would be like to share this with someone other than my parents. I can't tell how many times that scene has played in my mind in which I finally… dropped the bomb, you know? How it would go with you, or Lex, or Lana… There must have been a thousand different versions of that conversation. That doesn't mean it always went well. More like… the exact opposite…"

He's lost in thought now and I barely dare to interrupt. "Did you ever think what I'd…?  I mean… how did I take it… in those imaginary talks?"

"In the best ones you weren't mad, you said you understood and everything went fine. And then there were the really… _really_… awful ones…"

"Worse than the other day?" 

Clark nods slightly.

"Should I be offended that you have such a poor concept of me?" I joke to relieve the tension.

He lets out a soft chuckle.

"I guess I basically thought that imagining the worst possible outcome would prepare me for anything. Obviously, I was wrong. I just can't believe that in all these years it never occurred to me, not even _once_, that it wouldn't be me revealing my secret, but someone confronting me about it."

Clark grins at me to let me know he's not mad.

"Isn't that ironic? I had pictured everyone's possible reaction… except _mine_."

He's being so disarmingly honest and he's so very near right now and I love him so much that I'm seriously close to losing my mind and kissing him.

For the sake of my own sanity I try to morph into collected decision-making Chloe instead.

"Oh, I almost forgot… I've been doing quite a bit of hacking and… you're not exactly inconspicuous, you know that? I had to erase your name from at least ten police files. Perhaps you should be a little more…" I pause, searching for the right word "… more _cautious_ from now on. I don't want to imagine what would've happened if it hadn't been me the one to find Nixon's early Christmas present."

I avoid looking at him. If I see gratitude in his eyes I'll lose it.

"Thank you." Clark says, barely above a whisper.

The coffee mug I was trying so hard to concentrate on is becoming blurrier by the second. Please, don't let him see me cry. Please, not now. _Please_…

A pair of comforting arms envelops me and I just abandon myself to their comfort. The world around us disappears and there's nothing but Clark and the faint scent of hay on his shirt and this incredible feeling of safety and warmth, like finally getting home after the longest journey. Oh, there goes reason. I knew I'd lose it anyway. And now he's hugging me. Out of _pity_.

Between sobs, I can't stop repeating how sorry I am. He just caresses my hair and tells me not to worry.

God, where's self-control when you _really_ need it? I would even settle for a nice little hole opening in the ground under my feet and swallowing me…

It takes all my willpower to pull away from his embrace, but there's still something I need to say. I wipe a tear with the back of my hand and try to fake a composure I couldn't be further from feeling.

"There's something I never got the chance to tell you. Actually, the most important thing of all."

He raises his eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure I don't have any secrets left, Chloe."

I playfully shove his shoulder.

"Not about _you_. About _me_. And… you know… _this_."

"Okay…" he says as if giving me a cue to continue.

"And I realize this might change things between us, but I really need to tell you." I sigh. "See, all these recent…"

"Developments?" he offers.

"Thank you. Yeah, all these… _developments_ haven't changed the way I feel about you in the slightest. I mean, granted I was furious because you didn't trust me…" I trail off when I realize Clark is looking down.

I place a hand under his chin and force him to look up at me. "Hey, keyword being _was_, okay?"

He smiles, reminding me of the reason why I'm about to say what I'm about to say. Now, if only I could find the courage…

"Anyway, once I got past all my…"

"Wrath?"

"Yeah, all my… wait. Who's telling this story again?" I narrow my eyes at him.

He lifts his hands in mock surrender making me crack up despite myself.

"So, for the third time… once I got past my considerable and by the way perfectly justified anger, I realized I don't care if you're from the moon, Clark."

I take a deep breath and look away at the horizon. "I still love you… I'm still _in_ love with you. The same as yesterday, the same as that day in eighth grade when I kissed you for the first time… the same as _ever_."

Clark remains silent.

Okay, in any Meg Ryan movie this would be the part when he takes me in his arms and kisses me senseless, but it's painfully obvious that's not going to happen. I make a mental vow never to watch 'You've got Mail' again in my entire life.

Quick, Chloe. Cover up. Just go ahead and _say_ something.

"Look, we missed the sunri…" I start to say, but can't continue because he cuts me off mid-sentence… with a kiss. And then another. And another…

My last articulate thought before grabbing Clark's neck and saying goodbye to reason is that I might give old Meg another chance, after all. 

**- THE END –**

_That was it! Thank you for making it this far. I really hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it._

_'Pandora's Box' was inspired by 'Something to talk about', the beginning of my Chloe-has-to-know obsession, so you might like to have a look at that one, too. And yes, I am aware that was shameless self-promotion;)_


End file.
